


Battlestuck Galactica

by sunbreaksdown



Category: Homestuck
Genre: AU, BSGStuck, Battlestar Galactica - Freeform, F/F, F/M, Gen, Illustrated, Species Swap, an exercise in making Vriska's life miserable, far too many relationships to tag, gratuitous use of sci-fi expletives, multiple POVs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-05
Updated: 2012-10-18
Packaged: 2017-11-15 17:21:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/529696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunbreaksdown/pseuds/sunbreaksdown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>( Joint-project with <a href="http://skepticspecter.tumblr.com">skepticArcher</a>! Complete with illustrations. )</p><p>Fifty sweeps after the Cylon War, the former Imperial Drones decide that it's high time they got back to their regularly scheduled culling.</p><p>*</p><p>In which the universe's fifty-thousand remaining trolls come under the combined leadership of Commander Karkat Vantas and the young Empress Feferi Peixes, and Vriska Serket makes even more mistakes than anyone expected her to, while somehow saving everyone's collective ass in the process.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. PART ONE | CHAPTER ONE

**Author's Note:**

> I started this project with [skepticArcher](http://skepticspecter.tumblr.com/) almost a year ago (!) and from the very beginning, we knew it was going to be a huge amount of work. Recently, we decided that we should start posting what we have; due to both of us being busy with other things, it isn't going to be _as_ massive as we first imagined, but we're certainly not going to leave any loose ends. 
> 
> The POV only jumps around in Part One – after that, each chapter is taken by a different character. We hammered out this AU in the hopes that it would be accessible to anyone, not only those familiar with _Battlestar Galactica_ , so you don't have to worry about not having seen the canon it's based off. Some character's roles are vaguely based off those in BSG proper, but nobody matches up perfectly, and the majority of relationships aren't translated over. (For those who are familiar with BSG, Part One was designed to run along with the mini-series, and then it goes in its own direction from thereon out.)
> 
> Enjoy!

  
_Viper Pilots Vriska "Scorpio" Serket & Jade "Circe" Harley; Raptor Pilots John "Aeolus" Egbert & Aradia "Aries" Megido; Lieutenant Sollux Captor; a Cylon. _   


     Your name is Commander Karkat Vantas, superior officer aboard the Battlestar Galactica, and your entire existence is one big, miserable joke. The punchline to the carefully-crafted prank that is your life is the fact that you've been allowed to rise to a position of authority in spite of the increasingly luminous hue of your mutant blood. You have absolutely no frakking idea how this came to be, but you don't question the whims of the Empire. You do, however, spend each and every minute of each and every day certain that this is it, you're going to be culled, any moment now. You keep waiting and waiting for your inevitable demise, and your constant pessimism is fuelled by something other than paranoia.

     Because even your own _ship_ has tried to kill you. It's a hulking great mass of hoofbeast shit, and wasn't even vaguely cutting-edge when it was first put into service, fifty sweeps ago. Everything's all wires and chords, and of the thousand-something computers on board, none of which have operating systems advanced enough to power a microwave, exactly zero of them are networked. They may as well have put you in charge of an oversized row boat, filled to the brim with antiquated typewriters. When you were first positioned on the Galactica, you were assured that it was nothing short of an honour, because the Battlestar was a piece of history; a reminder of what had to be done to ensure that the whole of your race wasn't wiped out during the Cylon War.

     There's no physical way that you could care less, and god knows you've tried. If you had been around all those sweeps ago, the Empire never would've got into that mess in the first place. You would've been there to tell them that _of course_ it was a monumentally bad idea to pump the Imperial Drones full of artificial intelligence until the harddrives they called think pans were oozing with it, and then send them off to do all the dirty work that glorious intergalactic conquest entailed. How stupid did you have to be to not realise that that they'd grow resentful, eventually turning on their creators? When the Empress' royal clusterfrak of hair couldn't expand anymore without stretching the perimeters of the universe, it must've had to resort to growing inwards and threading right through her think pan. You've been over it time and time again, and it's the only possible explanation for such immaculate idiocy.

     Ever since then, most of the Empire's resources have been spent on rebuilding and defending Alternia, along with the surrounding planets you've colonised. The irrevocable annihilation of weaker races and the claiming of new worlds has been put on the back burner, leaving you with all this pent up, bloodthirsty rage. No wonder you're so angry all the time. No wonder you're going to have ground your teeth to dust by the time you're twelve. You've all this potential to be the greatest leader-slash-conqueror that the universe has ever seen, feared and respected in equal measures, and yet you're being punished for the mistakes made half a century ago. You feel like a subjugglator with no skulls to smash in.

     Not that any of the above matters right now. You need to cool your mind down from its usual boiling point, and focus on the day ahead of you. The Imperial Army has finally shown _some_ sense in deciding to decommission the rustbucket you're in charge of, and good frakking riddance to it. You're not thinking of the future. You're not thinking of the fact that this is going to leave you without a ship, without a crew, and that the best you can hope for is to spend the rest of your days curled up in a self-loathing heap on the floor of your hive, too exhausted by all the melancholy you've been exerting to curl up in your recuperacoon. You decide to make the best out of this last flight, as if anything good has ever come out of this scrapheap, and tell yourself over and over again that you're going to be able to endure the formalities of welcoming the Heiress Apparent on board to give Galactica an honourable send off.

     You wouldn't be surprised if the Empress is going to use this decommissioning as a chance to decommission _you_. It's no secret that she's been trying to assassinate Alternia's future ruler ever since she first hatched, and you've got this theory in the works that you've only been allowed to rise through the ranks and avoid any pesky cullings because Her Imperious Condescension probably gets some sick pleasure from making you squirm every goddamn day. She probably fills bucket after disgusting bucket over the thought of wiping out a mutant blood and her own descendant in one fell swoop.

     That said, you're convinced that the Empress is going to wipe you out in nine out of any ten given situations. Your crew, insubordinate as they are, no longer treat your incredibly legitimate fears with the gravity they deserve and, in short, have all but stopped listening to you. Your hulking, sweaty mess of a Deck Chief went as far as to claim that it would be an honour for one such as you to be wiped out by such singularly highblood, as it would mean that for one blissful, obliterating second, the Empress was acknowledging your existence and actually doing something about it.

     Just where the hell did you get all of these morons, anyway? Today would be so much easier if your XO was stood by your side. Unfortunately, she was killed almost a sweep ago in an unfortunate equipment malfunction on the bridge, which you were certain was another of the ship's assassination attempts meant for you. (It had been a heart-wrenching tragedy, and you were beside yourself with guilt for close to six whole hours. Until she promptly got better, anyway. But rest assured, no troll in this galaxy or any other has ever sworn so much in order to get the grieving process off to a blasphemous start.)

     You've tried to be patient with her, because you know that it can't be easy, being wholly alive one moment and then blindingly undead the next, but Kanaya's tardiness is starting to become the general rule of things, rather than the mere exception. You're well aware that all of the senior staff on the bridge have noticed this, along with at least half a dozen pilots, but it's the trunkbeast in the room that nobody's willing to address. She'll get better, you keep telling yourself. She'll find a way to adapt.

     With a great sigh, you decide to give her a few more minutes before departing, and lean against the central command unit, going over the course that's been charted for the umpteenth time. Brow furrowed, you stare at it for so long that the stars stop meaning anything to you, becoming pinpricks in your vision, until Kanaya Maryam finally slips in with all the subtlety afforded to a six-foot-something troll who glows like a compressed star.

KARKAT: JUST STOP RIGHT THERE.  
KANAYA: Stop Right Where  
KANAYA: It Doesnt Make Sense To Say That Once Ive Already Come To A Complete Halt  
KANAYA: More And More Often You Are Increasingly Absurd And I Can No Longer Prepare Myself For Your Antics  
KARKAT: HA-FRAKKING-HA. THAT'S RIGHT, CRITICISE MY PAINSTAKINGLY FORMULATED WORD CHOICE AND PICK APART MY SYNTAX IN FRONT OF ALL OUR INFERIOR OFFICERS WHEN YOU KNOW EXACTLY WHAT I REALLY MEAN.  
KARKAT: SAVE THE APOLOGY, MARYAM. LET'S PRETEND THAT YOU'RE SORRY FOR BEING LATE, I'M UNBELIEVABLY BENEVOLENT AND DON'T SEND YOU TO THE BRIG, AND WE END THIS CONVERSATION ON A LIGHT-HEARTED NOTE OF HOW YOU'RE JUST *FASHIONABLY* LATE, HAHAHA.  
KANAYA: Really  
KANAYA: Youre Going To Skip Over Things With Such Brutal Brevity When This Is The Last Chance Well Have To Enter Into This Routine Of A Strictly Protocol Song And Dance On This Particular Vessel   
KANAYA: The Vessel That Has Been Our Home For Over Two Sweeps  
KANAYA: Is Dispensing With The Final Usual Scathing Pleasantries Something Youre Willing To Live With  
KARKAT: WHICH PART OF THAT WASN'T EVIDENT IN EVERY GODDAMN WORD I JUST SAID TO YOU, MARYAM. WE'VE GOT TO GET THIS FINAL FAREWELL ON THE ROAD. THE ROAD THAT'S PAVED WITH THE NECESSARY COMPONENTS THAT WILL ULTIMATELY LEAD TO MY DEMISE, BY THE WAY.  
KANAYA: Urrgh This Again  
KARKAT: YES, THIS AGAIN. I'M SORRY THAT I'M NOT ALREADY RECENTLY DEPARTED AND THEREFORE NO LONGER HAVE TO WORRY ABOUT THE DELICATE BALANCE THAT MY LIFE HANGS IN.  
KARKAT: (by the way, have you fed lately? you're swaying a bit, kanaya. i know we've got to get going to meet the next condebitch in the making, but there's probably time for a snack.)  
KANAYA: Errr  
KANAYA: No  
KANAYA: Thats Um  
KANAYA: Absolutely Fine Karkat Can We Please Move Off This Topic  
KANAYA: Your Whispering Isnt Quite As Hushed As You Seem To Believe It Is   
SOLLUX: 2he2 riight you know.  
KARKAT: THANKS FOR YOUR INPUT, LIEUTENANT CAPTOR. I THINK YOU SHOULD GET THIS RUSTED PIECE OF SHIT ON COURSE BEFORE I HAVE YOU THROWN OUT OF THE NEAREST AIRLOCK FOR EAVESDROPPING ON TWO SUPERIOR OFFICERS ENGAGING IN CEREMONIAL BANTER.  
SOLLUX: riight on 2iir prepariing two 2et cour2e  
SOLLUX: reque2tiing permi22ion two 2peak off the record   
KARKAT: PERMISSION DENIED  
KANAYA: Permission Granted  
SOLLUX: thank you 2iir  
SOLLUX: 2ometiime2 ii wii2h you wouldnt iin2ult the 2hiip liike that commander KK  
SOLLUX: e2peciially wiith iit beiing our fiinal fliight and all  
SOLLUX: iit would be niice iif you re2pected all the hard work we do to keep her together  
KARKAT: THIS PLACE IS FALLING APART AT THE FRAKKING SEAMS. IT'S HELD TOGETHER MOSTLY BY A FINE PASTE MADE FROM THE LAST REMAINING DROPS OF MY DIGNITY AND KRAFT GRUBSAUCE.  
DAVE: damn commander  
DAVE: dont hold any bars dont hold anything back  
DAVE: even though ive gotta agree with the lt on this one  
DAVE: we know youre just trying to play hard to get with the ship sir  
DAVE: trying to solicit some illicit blackened romance with this nigh irresistible hunk of metal  
DAVE: but sometimes the crew would appreciate you getting in touch with your sensitive side   
DAVE: letting us know you appreciate all the hours weve put into working here  
DAVE: not to mention all the quadrants that have gone unfilled because of it  
DAVE: i mean shit   
DAVE: does anyone even remember the last time they woke up  
DAVE: all covered in bitches  
KARKAT: CAN IT, STRIDER. NO ONE GAVE YOU PERMISSION TO SPEAK OFF THE RECORD, EVEN IF THAT WAS AS FRAKKING INCOMPREHENSIBLE AS EVERYTHING YOU EVER SAY. LIEUTENANT, I WANT THAT LITTLE TIRADE *ON* THE RECORD, READY TO BE PRESENTED TO THE IMPERIAL ARMY WHEN WE GET BACK, PENDING ANY COURTBLOCK INVOLVEMENT.  
KANAYA: Karkat Please They Havent Listened To You The Last Dozen Times Youve Tried To Bring Down Official Disciplinary Action On The Ensigns Head  
KANAYA: His Melodious Grapples With The Troll Language That Can Only Be Accurately Defined As Raps Go Straight Over Their Collective Heads And Between Their Horns  
DAVE: listen to the xo commander  
DAVE: save yourself some time  
KARKAT: OH, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD.  
KARKAT: LIEUTENANT, PLEASE, GET US THE FRAK OUT OF HERE BEFORE I'M DEMOTED TO OFFICE OF THE BRIG, HAVING CEREMONIOUSLY IMPALED STRIDER ON HIS OWN HORN  
SOLLUX: ehehe ye2 siir whatever you 2ay 2iir

     It's going to be a long day.

*

     You name is Eridan Ampora, and you are one of the greatest scientific minds in the entirety of the universe. You're employed by the Empress herself, and for the last sweep, you've made startling progress in the defence mainframe that serves the whole of the Empire, both on Alternia and the surrounding colonies. With intergalactic conquest feeling like a thing of the past, there's no role more important than ensuring that the troll race is adequately protected, while you all live out a life of luxury, relishing in the spoils of worlds long since conquered.

     You are absolutely, irrefutably, one hundred percent responsible for all of your undoubtedly well-earned success. The troll who sits before you, taking small sips of steaming coffee, certainly has nothing to do with your rise to fame. You've had the unquestionably frustrating pleasure of her company more or less ever since you became part of the defence cabinet, and even after all this time, you still know next to nothing about her. Oh, you know the important things, of course; you know how she takes her coffee (black), and you know that the colour of her blood is lavender enough to deem her worthy of sitting opposite you. You also know that she's got a head for algorithms and computer systems like no one you've ever met before, but you're sure that you would've stumbled across all of her little tweaks, the minute improvements and corrections of your own accord, without her constantly hanging over your shoulder while you work on your programming. 

     She reveals infuriatingly little about herself no matter how much she tells you, and perigees ago you came to the conclusion that she's simply shy. Either that, or she can't work out what quadrant she wants to fill with you. You're an understanding man. You don't begrudge her for lingering over an almost impossible choice to make. But surely, you think, surely this must be it. After graciously allowing her to snoop around the heart of defence mainframe, in order to fix up a few things on your behalf and get the inside information she needs for her company to win the contract to do, well, whatever the hell it is she does – she's painfully vague about that too – _now_ she's finally going to stop playing hard to get and thrust all of this unspoken tension out in the open.

     She sips on her coffee again, and you watch as her eyes flutter to a close for a brief second, lips meeting their own reflection. With her straight, towering horns, she'd make a lovely seadweller. The only fault you can find in her lies in the fact that she's not a fraction of a degree higher on the hemospectrum, but at the same time, it's reassuring to know that nobody's perfect.

     In spite of what the magazines consistently say about you.

??????: I'll do you the favour of not being painfully aware of the current intensity of your gaze and move straight onto business.  
ERIDAN: wwhoa come on noww do me a favvour  
ERIDAN: wwe both knoww exactly wwhat it is youre doin so howw about wwe both savve all this time wwe could be talkin for more pressin matters  
??????: Oh? I realise you've claimed that this apparent well of information springs in the twin oases of our think pans, but please, humour me. What are these issues that see fit to press upon us?  
ERIDAN: dont go bee essing me wwith your extended metaphor bullshit  
ERIDAN: youre here to tell me something  
??????: Actually, I am.

     You're fairly certain that your fins flex back so far that they end up pasted to the back of your skull. Did she really just say what you thought she said? After all this time, after all of your selfless generosity, you've finally been presented with the chance to reap the fruits of your labour. She smiles at you over the edge of her coffee, and your blood runs colder than the Empress'. Clearing your throat, you put your own iced tea down, carefully threading your fingers together. A few rings dig in uncomfortably at the sides, but you ignore all of that, and calmly ask her to continue.

??????: I'm a machine.

     Whoa, wait, what? What kind of mind games is she playing with you this time?

ERIDAN: wwhoa wwait wwhat  
ERIDAN: wwhat frakkin mind games are you playing wwith me this time you landhag  
??????: It's not a game, Ampora. Certainly not one that you're likely to win, at any rate. I know you're a man capable of using his think pan roughly once in a twin blue moon, and I also know you're going to be nothing if not sceptical. I also don't particularly care.   
??????: But after all the help you've charitably afforded me with absolutely no ulterior motive, I thought you deserved to know how you helped facilitate your own demise.  
ERIDAN: all the help  
ERIDAN: demise  
ERIDAN: wwhat the frak are you on about you know this stopped bein funny like twwenty swweeps before you wwere evven a slurry of genetic filth

     Pointedly ignoring your verbal flailing, she returns her attention to the coffee as if it's done more for her than you have, and continues indulging in it with a smile. A smile that doesn't fade, and is starting to make your gills twitch uncomfortably. You've always known she was _weird_ , but you've always been able to overlook that for the sake of an impending future romance, the likes of which the galaxy has never seen before, but this is just making your downright uncomfortable. She's perfectly calm, expression unreadable. Her eyes give away nothing; they never do. You know that, if nothing else, she believes what she's saying.

??????: Think about it. You've always known there was something peculiar about me, haven't you? Your mind may not have made the immediate leap to "Cylon," but even now, you realise that I'm telling the truth. If only because it flatters your ego to think of me as a machine, one that hasn't been seen by trolls in well over fifty sweeps, who has chosen you to help set things into motion.  
ERIDAN: frakkin wwhat  
ERIDAN: wwait if youre a machine is that wwhy wwe nevver committed to any quadrants   
ERIDAN: dont havve the necessary equipment huh  
??????: ...  
ERIDAN: wwhat dont givve me that icy look like it answwers anyfin   
??????: Is this honestly how you want to spend your last moments? Making your failures vocally known to the inhabitants of this block?  
ERIDAN: my last wwhat

     She raises her eyebrows. As if on cue, a high-pitched noise bleeds over the horizon, a burst of light, and then there's nothing but silence. Eyes wide, you realise that you're clinging to the sides of the table, and with a hum of amusement, she puts her coffee down. The mug clinks as it meets the wooden surface, and like a single cry that's set off an avalanche, the world beyond your window is filled with the sound of the ground being torn apart.

??????: I'd recommend taking refuge under the table.

*

     Your name is Vriska Serket, and you're the best there is.

     You're Top Gun aboard the Battlestar Galactica, and you've absolutely no doubt that you'd be the best of the best on any of the Imperial Fleet's ships, whether inside the cockpit of a Viper, or sat at a table playing poker with a circle of chumps, painfully eager for you to take their money. Your vision eightfold has a lot of uses, but none so satisfying as getting a glimpse or two through the back of playing cards. Anyone else in your position would've got bored after eight consecutive wins, but not you. You're basking in the victories you pile upon yourself, having all of your fellow pilots exactly where you want them.

     Placing your cards face-down against the table, you rock on the creaking back legs of your chair, cigar between two fingers, stein in one hand, and let the others take as much time as they need. Next to you, Jade Harley's scrunching up her nose as she draws her cards closer to her face, as if that'll give her any more hope of winning with such an appalling hand. You'd tell her to hurry the frak up, because you don't have all day and you're nearly all the way through this beer, but she's the only one who even comes close to your prowess in a Viper. You've an unspoken sort of respect for her, and rather than snap at her, you slap her across the back, scattering ash in her long hair. If nothing else, she always gives it her all, and once this game is over and done with, you might even let her have one of the cigars you won a few rounds back against the maintenance crew. 

     Mostly because it's funny to watch her consistently choke on the smoke each and every time. Still, she _is_ a Viper pilot, and if you don't make the effort to roughen her up, who else will? You're doing her a service. 

     Whatever way you look at it, she's doing a whole lot better than John. He's got this funny little smile spilling out from the corner of his mouth, and it gives him away. He's so pleased to finally have a hand that could possibly salvage him from the crippling depths of defeat he's sunk to during this game that it's plastered all over his face. And that's the heartbreaking part, really. He _could_ win, if this was another round entirely, and you weren't participating. At least Jade seems to have accepted the fact that she's doomed, whereas John is still neglecting alcohol in favour of optimism. God, you can't believe that your best friend in the whole damn universe is this bad at poker.

     It's unbelievably embarrassing. You almost can't bear to crush him beneath your heel.

     _Almost_.

     As ever, Aradia's your only real competition. She takes a small, polite sip of her beer, and spares a single glance at the cards in her hand, wearing a perfect mask of her own face. You have absolutely no idea whether she's confident or not, whether she even cares about the outcome, and it's the most excitement that's been sparked off inside of you throughout the whole game. You don't even look through her cards. You just let the suspense linger in the air, knowing you've got your absurd quantities of good luck to fall back on.

     You chug the last of your beer, and ask everyone if they're ready to get this show on the road. Just as you're about to commence humiliating them all, the loudspeaker sounds overhead. 

DAVE: sup   
DAVE: this is your communications officer speaking  
DAVE: if you look out of your nearest window youll see endless black space  
DAVE: same as every day  
DAVE: same as every night  
DAVE: only this is the last day well be on board the galactica so take the time  
DAVE: to get all sentimental and ultimately nostalgic for a time in your life  
DAVE: that was mostly just ok  
DAVE: because were heading back home after this last lap  
DAVE: off the record i recommend that you start thinkin about what youre gonna get up to back on the surface  
DAVE: cause if you havent already got yourself another station  
DAVE: well  
DAVE: i hear they pay good money for reluctant young trolls to fill buckets in front of strangers

DAVE: its been an honour serving with you all  
DAVE: over

     There's a mixed reaction from the crowd of off-duty pilots around you. John snorts out a laugh like Dave's tired old bullshit is still the funniest thing he's ever heard, even though they've been friends for so long that you're beginning to suspect they hatched from the same egg, and Jade's expression droops, marking her as the first to show disappointment. Aradia smiles sadly, having already told the group over and over that all good things must come to an end, and that this will only be the start of something new for you all. From behind her, there's some whooping and cheering, drunken in nature, raised in agreement with Dave's last point.

     Ugh, you still can't stand that guy. What kind of idiot covers up his real blood colour with bright red for the sake of irony, anyway? You're glad that the Commander's probably going to give him an earful for this. Vantas' piercing lectures are worse than a night spend in the brig, and you'd know. You've experienced both plenty of times.

     Cigar between your lips, you pick your cards back up, sinking a little lower into your seat. Because that's how you get comfortable. It certainly has nothing to do with the fact that John, Jade and Aradia have already found themselves new Battlestars to move onto, while you're left in limbo. Like you've already said, you're the best of the best, and there's not one crewman aboard this vessel or any other who's stupid enough to deny that. Your superiors, however, feel that you can sometimes become too much of a handful, that you're reckless, out of control, and just don't know where to station you. 

     It doesn't matter to you where you end up, as long as you're somewhere. As long as you get to keep on flying until the day you truly spiral out of control, and end up compressed inside a tiny cube of metal that used to be a Viper.

     Bluh. Time to win this game.

VRISKA: What's that? You want to know how many games I've won in a row? Pffffffff, you should 8e keeping count, 8ut I guess I can do you all a favour and verify your facts!  
VRISKA: The answer is all the games. All of them.  
JADE: oh nooooo  
JADE: this happens every time!!  
VRISKA: And yet you suckers keep on playing with me. Well, I'm not surprised! You've got to play against the 8est if you want to 8e the 8est yourself one day.  
VRISKA: Not that there's much chance of that happening with any of you! Hahahahahahahaha.  
ARADIA: did anyone tell you that youre such a gracious winner scorpio?  
VRISKA: Can it, Aries.  
JADE: please dont start fighting you two  
JADE: it always ends badly when you start throwing callsigns around without even being that drunk  
JOHN: don't worry, jade! no one's going to get into any arguments on our last day.  
JOHN: vriska, i'm happy you won, but you don't need to brag so much. and you know we only play against you because there's not much else to do during our off-duty.  
VRISKA: Whatever, Eg8ert. Don't act like you're not going to cry yourself to sleep tonight!

     With a smug grin, you take a deep breath, watching as the oxygen burns away the last of your cigar. You pull it from beneath your lips, stub it out against the steel tabletop, and then lean over, dragging all of your winnings towards you. Jade slumps against the table, grumbling that she shouldn't have thrown away the last of her cash like that, and John pats her back, telling her that it's alright, everyone is silly enough to play against Vriska Serket, sometimes.

     Just as you're about to say that's right, they all brought their misery on themselves, as if you didn't have a flawless winning streak going, the loudspeaker crackles to life above you again. You lean back in your seat, and groan out _fraaaaaaaak_ at the prospect of having to listen to another one of Dave's tirades, loudly enough for half of the deck to turn and face you.

KANAYA: This Is  
KANAYA: I

     Okay, that's _definitely_ not Dave. It catches your attention almost soberingly well, and you lean forward, ears straining to listen, even though nothing but static floods into the air. You've known Kanaya for a long, long time now, and while she drags out her sentences to breaking point and stretches the use of words beyond all reasonable limits to spend twenty minutes on a thirty second anecdote, she doesn't hesitate. It's been three words, and her voice is already thick with something.

KANAYA: This Is The XO Speaking  
KANAYA: Within The Past Few Minutes We Have Received Reports That Our Home Worlds Have Fallen Under Attack From Enemy Forces  
KANAYA: While We Do Not Know The Exact Number Of Casualties It Is Believed That The Figures Will Be Extensive  
KANAYA: Further More   
KANAYA: All Reports Indicate That The Assault Was Nuclear In Nature And  
KANAYA: Perpetrated By Cylons  
KANAYA: Therefore  
KANAYA: Battle Stations  
KANAYA: You Have Undergone The Necessary Training And You Are All Prepared  
KANAYA: This Is Not A Drill

     Alarms begin to blare, but you barely hear them at all. There's a silence weighing down heavily on the room, and you all look at one another with a shared sentiment of _what the frak_. You may have spent sweeps in the academy being prepared for an enemy nobody truly believed would come back, but none of you are ready for this in the least. In spite of that, you're on your feet before anyone else, and with a quick glance between Aradia, John and Jade, you're darting down the corridor, towards the hanger, thoughts a blurred between _oh shit, oh shit, oh shit_ , and _about goddamn time_. 

     This is it. Your chance to prove yourself. 

     By the time you've got your uniform on, your Viper's prepped and ready for take off. Deck Chief Zahhak might be as weird as hell, but he runs a tight ship, and between him and Nepeta, you know your Viper's in good hands. You clamber up the side, sinking into the single seat like it's an extension of your own body, hands gripping the controls like you're hopped up on sopor pills. Before you're sealed inside, Aradia looks your way as she heads to her bulkier fighter, her Raptor, with John. 

VRISKA: Those 8astards have hit Alternia. Let's give them hell.  
ARADIA: dont worry  
ARADIA: no ones going to let them off easily!  
VRISKA: Damn right they're not. My lusus is down there.  
ARADIA: ... you don't have to look so happy about that part

     The deck clears and the hatch opens, ready for manual deploy, and as your engines roar to life, you know this is going to be unlike anything anyone has ever had to deal with before.


	2. PART ONE | CHAPTER TWO

_Executive Officer Kanaya Maryam; Commander Karkat Vantas._

     Your name is Feferi Peixes, and this is the worst day of a lot of people's lives.

     You were less than half an hour away from the Battlestar Galactica, where you were due to meet the Commander and give the ship a good send off, when you got the news. You're trying to react to it all as you know you should: sombrely, with composure, with silent sorrow and the sort of strength that your people won't be able to muster of their own accord. You place your hands together in your lap, lips pursed together tightly, and hope that it's how you're coming across. Because honestly, all you want to do is cry. You want to pace up and down the civilian ship you're stationed on, and demand to know how this all happen and _why_.

     Why nobody stopped it. Why it all happened so quickly, so ruthlessly, and why they didn't _want_ anything. Your race has taken so much from others, and there's no end to the things you could surrender to enemy forces. But as you sit there, going over report after report between your hands, it becomes increasingly clear that there's no sense to be made from any of the destruction unfurling throughout the universe. Alternia's all but gone. The colony planets that you've heard from haven't fared much better, either. 

     With a deep breath, you try to tune back into what's being said around you. It's a government vessel and you're the highest ranking official on board, and so you've got to keep it together for the sake of those around you. You can't afford for there to be full-blown panic in such confined quarters, but at the same time, you can't stand the way you're keeping the true extent of this from the public. You skim across the documents again and again, never quite able to take in every little detail. You stumble across something new each time; another destroyed Battlestar; another eradicated civilian fleet; another report of Vipers' engines and guns alike failing when they engaged the enemy.

     You place the papers in a neat pile against your table, and tell yourself that there must be _something_ you can do to help. If not in battle, then in organising rescue missions, sending out help for the survivors; at this point, you'd honestly do anything to avoid having to linger over the recurring thought that this would be the perfect time for the Empress to finally kill you off, for once and for all. 

     You turn your attention to your aide sat patiently in front of you, holding yet another stack of reports for you to glance over and do absolutely nothing about. He tries to give you a reassuring smile, and you think you might finally burst into tears. He's one of the best helpers you've ever had; a little skittish, always uncertain of himself, but somehow, he manages to get the job done in spite of all that. You know plenty of bluebloods and higher have turned up their nose at you for choosing someone of his caste to work, in confidence, at your side, but none of them would ever dare voice their concerns to your face.

TAVROS: uMMM, mISS PEXIES, sIR   
TAVROS: fIRST OF ALL, tHAT IS, mOST IMPORTANTLY OF ALL   
TAVROS: tHE THING IS, i DON'T THINK YOU NEED TO READ ANY MORE   
TAVROS: bECAUSE, nOT THAT i THINK YOU CAN'T HANDLE IT   
TAVROS: aCTUALLY, iT'S THE OPPOSITE, bUT   
TAVROS: iT'S ONLY REPEATING, wHAT YOU'VE ALREADY READ, aND SO   
TAVROS: yOU'D PROBABLY BE BETTER, iF NOT COMPLETELY OK   
TAVROS: fOCUSING ON WHAT YOU'VE ALREADY HAD TO READ, aND   
TAVROS: sTART HELPING WHERE YOU, oR, wE, cAN   
FEFERI: )(oly mackerel, I am glad I )(ave you around to )(elp keep my )(orns in the game.   
FEFERI: Wit)(out you, I'd be sitting )(ere, glubbing away like a wiggler wit)(out a lusus, about to be CULL-ED!   
FEFERI: Glub glub.    
TAVROS: uMMM,,,   
FEFERI: Glub glub glub.   
TAVROS: uHHHH,,,   
FEFERI: Glub glub glub glub.   
TAVROS: yOU'RE, eRR, dOING IT ANYWAY   
TAVROS: dESPITE THAT THING, tHAT YOU JUST SAID   
TAVROS: aBOUT NOT DOING IT,,,   
FEFERI: Errr. Sorry. It's difficult to control the glubs at a time like t)(is.    
FEFERI: Let's get started on w)(at we've already looked over!

     You turn back to the information afforded to you with renewed determination, which lasts for a solid four minutes. During this time, you begin thinking in figures; you make a note of the ship's maximum capacity, subtract from that how many people are on board, and start working out how many you can save; you glance across the list of supplies in the cargo hold and immediately break them down into rations; and all in all, things aren't look as dire as they were short moments ago. You can't fix this, you know that, but there's no way that you're going to let things get any worse when there's still the smallest thing you can do to help.

     You think your new found confidence must seep into the air, because opposite you, even Tavros seems to relax a little. Until the whole of the ship thunders around you, that is, walls and floors alike shaking with it, indistinct from one another when you're being thrown every which way. You cling to the table, and in trying to reach out and support you, Tavros tumbles from his seat, onto the floor. 

FEFERI: W)(AT T)(--E FRAK WAS T)(AT!?

     Once the ship stops reverberating from the initial impact, you're on your feet, making your way back to the Captain for answer. Tavros tries to follow you, finds himself caught up in the confusion of the panicked, frenzied crowd, and you hate to leave him behind, but somebody's got to deal with the civilians. It's what you pay him for, anyway, and with a quick, apologetic glance across your shoulder, you close the cockpit door behind you.

     Inside, the co-pilot's flicking a whole load of switches that you're sure all have very, very important uses, ensuring that everything's still in working order. There are enough lights flashing away on the dashboard for you to feel certain that the ship's not going to crumble around you at any moment, and the Captain looks up at you, eyes wide, breathing out a sigh of relief. He informs you that it wasn't as bad a collision as it felt, really, taps at the radar on his control unit, and when the radio buzzes to life next to him, you lean over, grabbing the receiver. 

FEFERI: )(-EY! Identify yourself immediately.   
VRISKA: Oh man, goddamn lousy toasters taking out all of my frakking controls, I swear to god I'm not a8out to let th—   
FEFERI: Are you listening to me? I said identify yourself at once!   
VRISKA: Ugh, shit, soooooooorry. This is Lieutenant Vriska Serket of the 8attlestar Galactica, callsign Scorpio.    
FEFERI: T)(e Galactica is still in one piece?   
VRISKA: It was when I left it. Wouldn't be surprised if those morons had run str8 into a Cylon stronghold without me to stop them from choking on their own stupidity. God!   
FEFERI: Scorpio, t)(is is the )(eiress Apparent, Feferi Peixes. I was supposed to be rendezvousing wit)( your vessel.    
VRISKA: Frak.   
VRISKA: Sorry, sir. I didn't expect to find you on a civilian ship. Or, you know, anywhere at all.   
VRISKA: Didn't mean to crash into you like that. Hope I didn't ruin the paint job!   
FEFERI: T)(at's quite alright. It's been a reel toug)( day for -EV-ERYONE, Scorpio. I've been reading reports of s)(ips losing power everyw)(ere. I'm sure it's not your fault that you drifted into us.    
VRISKA: Hahahahahahahaha, no waaaaaaaay! I'm the 8est on the Galactica, sir. Think you can help me get on 8oard? I don't want to start drifting away.   
FEFERI: Roger t)(at! I am sure the civilians will feel a lot safer with a member of the military on the ship!

*

     Your name is still Commander Karkat Vantas, and you're still the superior officer aboard the Battlestar Galactica, in spite of the fact that it was due to be decommissioned upwards of two hours ago. In the time between the beginning of your final voyage, which is looking to be final in more ways than one, and now, rather than settle into your forced retirement kicking and screaming, you've suffered the loss of eighty-five good crew members. And that's not even including the dozens of pilots currently unaccounted for.

     Hands balled into fists, you pace across the bridge, not even able to pretend that you know how to deal with any of this. The whole crew knows how you've boasted time and time again that could take down a whole fleet of Cylons, but nobody's holding you to your word now. They're all too busy reeling from the devastation, the likes of which no one has seen before. (Well, you pause to think; the races the troll Empire once wiped out have seen the likes of it, but that's neither here nor there.) Alternia, the Empire's stronghold, fell within hours. If anyone's alive on the surface, they aren't likely to survive the toxic atmosphere for long.

     A third of the Imperial Fleet went down in the first wave of attacks. The last time you got a report from any other military personnel, the army was down to a tenth of the size it had been this time yesterday. It's all silence over the radios, and the only blips that show up on your radar either belong to Cylons, or the debris they've left behind. You're starting to feel like you're the only form of flesh-clad life in the whole of the known universe.

     It's been twelve minutes since anything showed up in your immediate vicinity. You can't believe that you've sent all your pilots out to die. Strider's desperately trying to get into contact with them, and has been doing so ever since contact was cut off, but he's not having any luck. You've snapped at him more than once, and you know it's bad when even he, insufferable prick that he is, is showing signs of wear. Everyone's moving through this with clunky, automatic motions, doing what they always do, what they've been trained to, because if they don't, they'll be forced to stop and take in the full extent of what's happened. 

     And that isn't going to help anyone out.

     Kanaya steps over to you, hand against your back. You breathe in, muscles tensing all the more, and you do everything in your power to refrain from snapping at her. You could demand to know what the frak she wants, even though she's only trying to help, and you could tell her that trying to comfort you isn't going to help anyone. It's not going to help the crew members you have left, it's not going to help anyone stranded out in the black of space, and it's not going to help your pilots. As if there's any chance of them still being in one piece. 

     Brow furrowed, you turn on your heels, finger raised, about to put her in her place when Strider sees fit to interject.

DAVE: cool your horns commander   
DAVE: weve got an incoming message

     Kanaya gives you a look that just screams _Now, aren't you glad you didn't just scold me?_ , and you huff indignantly, taking a second longer than you should to return to the controls. This had better be good. This had better be really frakking good, because you're not about to stand there and let someone shove more bad news down your protein chute. You will shoot the messenger, if that's what it comes to.

KARKAT: THIS IS THE BATTLESTAR GALACTICA. NOW IS NOT THE TIME TO BE MESSING ME ABOUT, SO IDENTIFY YOURSELF IMMEDIATELY, AND MAKE IT GOOD.  
FEFERI: RUD--E! T)(is is th)( civilian s)(ip Imperial One.  
KARKAT: IMPERIAL ONE.  
WHAT THE FUCK? YOU'VE GOT THE EMPRESS ON BOARD?  
FEFERI: Errr. Tec)(nically speaking, yes!   
KARKAT: OH, THANK GOD. WE'RE GOING TO NEED ALL THE RAW BRUTE-FORCE AND TERRIFYING POWER WE CAN GET IF WE'RE GOING TO HAVE ANY CHANCE OF SURVIVING THIS. ONE LOOK FROM HER AND THE CYLONS WILL FIND NEW AND DISGUSTING WAYS TO SHIT THEMSELVES IN FEAR. PUT HER ON.  
FEFERI: Actually, you are already talking to )(er.  
KARKAT: WHAT THE FUCK.  
KARKAT: DO I NEED TO REMIND YOU THAT THIS IS A MILITARY VESSEL, WE'RE CURRENTLY AT WAR, AND THAT I'M THE COMMANDER HERE? THIS IS NO TIME TO BE JOKING AROUND.  
FEFERI: I am NOT joking around, Commander! )(er Imperious Condescension was on the )(ome world at the time of t)(e attacks.  
KARKAT: OH  
KARKAT: OH GOD OH GOD   
KARKAT: YOU'RE  
KARKAT: FRAK, YOU'RE THE HEIRESS APPARENT, AREN'T YOU?   
FEFERI: I was.  
KARKAT: FIRST OF ALL, YOU CAN'T CULL ME FOR THAT. ANYONE COULD'VE MADE THAT MISTAKE, AND IF ANYTHING, YOU SHOULD'VE EXPLAINED YOURSELF. WE'RE UNDER A LOT OF STRESS. SECOND OF ALL, YOU MIGHT AS WELL CULL ME FOR THAT, BECAUSE OH MY GOD, HAVE YOU SEEN WHAT WE'RE UP AGAINST?  
KARKAT: SIR.  
FEFERI: Yes, I )(ave read all of the reports! In fact, I )(ave been going over t)(em with one of your pilots.  
KARKAT: ONE OF MY PILOTS? WHY DID YOU WAIT SO LONG TO TELL ME THAT? WHO THE HELL IS IT?  
KARKAT: EGBERT  
KARKAT: MEGIDO  
KARKAT: HARLEY?  
VRISKA: Woooooooow, thanks, Commander! It's gr8 to see how you really feel! Don't hold anything 8ack! Don't mourn my a8sence at all!  
KARKAT: OH  
KARKAT: SERKET.  
KANAYA: Vriska  
KANAYA: Its Good To Hear From You Lieutenant  
VRISKA: Oh man, don't say it in that tone of voice, like you thought I was totally dead! VRISKA: Have some faith in me, 8ecause you know I'm the 8est there is.  
FEFERI: You s)(ould listen to Lieutenant Scorpio. S)(e knows w)(ere the rest of your pilots are, too.  
KARKAT: WHAT IS IT WITH EVERYONE HOLDING BACK IMPORTANT INFORMATION TODAY? SPIT IT OUT, SERKET.  
VRISKA: Ugh, may8e if you calmed down for 8 seconds I could explain, Commander!!!!!!!! I've already sent over my last known coordin8s from my Viper to Lieutenant Captor.   
VRISKA: 8y the way, my Viper is a8solutely wrecked! I'm not sure even the deck crew can salvage it.  
VRISKA: Anyway.  
VRISKA: I can't promise that everyone is going to 8e there, or that they'll all 8e alive! 8ut that's the last place we all were 8efore we lost power. I was just naturally lucky and drifted into the Empress' ship! 8ut that should surprise no8ody.  
KARKAT: LIEUTENANT  
KARKAT: HAVE YOU GOT THE INFORMATION?   
SOLLUX: 2es 2iir we are headiing there now  
KARKAT: GOOD.  
KARKAT: GOOD WORK, LIEUTENANT SERKET.  
VRISKA: A8out time!!!!!!!!  
KARKAT: SHUT UP. DON'T PUSH YOUR LUCK.  
KARKAT: AND DON'T TELL ME THAT YOU HAVE ALL THE LUCK, ALL OF IT, AND SO COULDN'T POSSIBLY MUSTER UP THE UPPER BODY STRENGTH TO MAKE IT BUDGE SO MUCH AS AN INCH.  
KARKAT: I'M ASSUMING YOUR VESSEL HAS SOME SORT OF FASTER THAN LIGHT CAPABILITIES, BECAUSE THIS ONE DOES, AND IT'S GOT TO BE OLDER THAN THE EMPRESS HERSELF.  
KARKAT: ER, AWKWARD. GOD REST HER SOUL OR WHATEVER, I'M SURE THERE WAS ONE IN THERE SOMEWHERE.  
KARKAT: I NEED YOU TO MAKE A JUMP TO OUR COORDINATES, WHERE WE HAVE SOME SORT OF RELATIVE SAFETY. WE CAN PROTECT YOU.  
FEFERI: I am sorry, but I can't do t)(at, Commander.  
KARKAT: WHAT DO YOU MEAN, CAN'T?  
FEFERI: I mean that first, we're going to )(elp out as many of the stranded s)(ips as we can, and form a convoy.  
KARKAT: WITH ALL DUE RESPECT, YOUR MAJESTY, WHAT THE FRAK ARE YOU DOING? THIS IS WAR. WE DON'T HAVE TIME TO WASTE. AT THIS RATE, YOU WON'T EVEN BE ABLE TO SAVE YOURSELVES.   
FEFERI: War?  
FEFERI: Look around you, Commander. T)(ere is no war! We lost a long, long time ago. All we can do now is gat)(er up as many survivors as possible!  
KARKAT: WHAT THE HELL.  
KARKAT: NO.  
KANAYA: Lieutenant Serket  
KANAYA: Could You Please Talk This Through With The Empress And Explain Why She Ought Jump  
KANAYA: I Know How Infuriatingly Persuasive You Can Be  
VRISKA: I'm sorry, sir. 8ut I think the Empress might 8e right........  
VRISKA: I mean, I'm not going to stop fighting! There's no way those chumps have defeated us yet. 8ut for the civilians........  
VRISKA: You weren't out there. You didn't see the way they just killed our power, like flicking a goddamn switch. They've 8een planning this for a long, long time, sir.  
KANAYA: Lieutenant  
KANAYA: This Is No Longer An Order  
KANAYA: Return To Galactica Immediately  
VRISKA: Don't sweat it! 8esides, I'm with the EMPRESS, who I am quite sure outranks you!!!!!!!! We'll pick up all the surrounding vessels, and then we'll come to meet you.  
VRISKA: It's no pro8lem at all! It's definitely something I can do, so don't worry a8out it.  
KARKAT: LIEUTENANT, YOU ARE GOING TO BE IN THE BRIG FOR SO LONG IF YOU EVER GET BACK HERE.  
KARKAT: WHICH YOU WON'T, BECAUSE YOU'RE RISKING YOUR NECKS WITH EVERY ADDITIONAL SECOND THAT YOU'RE OUT THERE. JOIN US IMMEDIATELY.

     The arguing goes in cycles until it's abruptly cut short by a crashing from their end of the radio, and you know that it's already been left too long. They're done for. Kanaya takes the the receiver from your hand, gripping it tightly, poised to respond, though she's just as aware as you are that nobody's going to be contacting you. You get Sollux to trace their location, and after a spate of wrestling with your radar system, there's the outline of the Imperial One, showing up on your screen.

     And it's not alone. Those aren't civilian ships surrounding it, and they aren't Cylons, either. Godfrakkingdammit, you _wish_ they were Cylons, because in the next moment, you're watching as the shape of the Imperial One curls in on itself, before bursting into a cloud of bright blue, a result of what can only be a nuclear impact.

     They should have frakking jumped when they had the chance.

*

     Your name is John Egbert, and you've just landed on your now-nuked home planet of Alternia with little more than a concussion. All things considered, you should be dead by now. You lined your Raptor up amongst a rally of Vipers, stared a swarm of Cylons straight in the eye, and barely managed to scuttle out of the mess without losing your power. From there, the only thing you could do was let Alternia's gravity take hold of you, energy shut right down to the wick, drifting towards the surface.

     They're funny things, those Cylon raiders. They're like giant wings curling to a point towards you, not piloted by anyone — anyone in anything resembling a cockpit, that is. Sure, they could have a Cylon shoved away in there somewhere, but you don't think there _needs_ to be a pilot. The ship is a whole as it is, unlike your Raptor, which isn't going to be going anywhere without you and your co-pilot inside. In that regard, you never stood a chance. But it's okay. You aren't too worried, because Vriska was there to lead the charge, and as you've been told many, many times, nobody's better than Vriska. With her working alongside Jade, the Cylons don't stand a chance.

     Cracking the door of your Raptor open, you glance around the grassy landscape you've landed on, and then hop back onto solid ground. Fiddling with the latches on the side of your helmet, it splits in two with a snap, and you open it out, easing it from around your horns. According to your Raptor's readings, the air will be breathable without any ill-effects for a few days. You roll back your shoulders, rubbing at the nape of your neck, and then glance over to Aradia. 

     She's got the ship back into shape, and she's standing with her helmet between her hands, staring off into the horizon. Of all the people you know, Aradia's always dealt with loss and death alike with the most understanding. You wouldn't say that it's any easier on her than it is on you, but she knows how to keep her head in the game. She knows how to look at things from a different perspective in order to keep going. But now there's a sadness painted across her face that almost looks like defeat, and you can't blame her.

     There are clouds of ash and dust rising every which way you look, and the whole of the world around you is eerily quiet. The entire planet is like this, now. Either in ruin or rotting.

JOHN: ... i don't think being here is doing us any good. we need to get back to galactica, where we can help everyone out.  
ARADIA: right  
i dont think we are of any use to anyone down here!   
so the best we can do now is make sure that no one else has to end up like this  
JOHN: aradia?  
ARADIA: what is it?  
JOHN: oh, nothing.  
JOHN: it's just that you might've spoken too soon about us not being able to help anyone.  
JOHN: because they look like they have different ideas.

     It's only a ripple atop a hill at first. Something that could be mistaken for a tree bowing to the mercy of the wind. But then the movements become clearer, more consistent, and you realise that those are people running towards you. The few survivors that have managed to flee from the cities. Your immediate gut reaction is that, thank god, you get to help these people, but you quickly realise that there are just too many of them to fit aboard your Raptor. With a hurried glance towards Aradia, you pull your gun from its holster, and you have it held up high before the oncoming assault of desperate, frightened people hits you.

     There are just too many of them. Dozens. They ignore your guns and try rushing you, as if they've any hope of being able to pilot the vessel to safety without your compliance. 

JOHN: stand back! this is NOT a rescue mission!   
ARADIA: the wigglers john   
JOHN: errr right.   
JOHN: we can take the wigglers! and then two more people, but that's all.

     As soon as you allude to the fact that there's still space on your Raptor, people are suddenly rushing you, demanding to know how you're going to pick who gets to go on. Before you can even answer, they're offering you money, their last treasured belongings, as if any of that means anything anymore. Again and again they try pushing past you and Aradia, and you each have to fire two shots in order to get them to back off. With the ground at your feet scorched, you tell them that it's going to have to be a lottery, and Aradia immediately starts tearing up the paper you'll need.

     A few people grumble, saying that the lowbloods present shouldn't be included, and Aradia shoots them a stern glare. When they see the way she's still gripping her gun, they don't suggest as much again. You draw the tickets, not wanting to unfold them in your palm, not wanting to have to be the one to choose who gets to live, and who has to stay and die from the radiation poison that'll eventually rot their bones. A man with muddy brown blood is picked first, and he walks towards the Raptor with his head low, not wanting to the others to see how guiltily glad is he for having been chosen over them. 

     You call the second number, and all at once, people look down at their tickets as if they haven't already read their own numbers a thousand times over with every second that's passed since they were handed them. They sigh, they groan, they swear; some even drop to the ground, knowing that this is it. It's really over. Again, you call out the number, and no one responds. Repeating yourself a third time, you finally see an elderly troll, asking a — god, is that a seadweller? She's holding the ticket out to the seadweller, asking him to read it for her.

JOHN: excuse me. does that lady have number 47?   
ERIDAN: er   
ERIDAN: wwell   
ERIDAN: thats right i guess it belongs to this wwoman

     The seadweller places his hand against the back of the woman's shoulder, eyes cast off to the side, and begins leading her over to you. You hate yourself for thinking it's a shame that she was chosen, because she's already so old and fragile looking that surely, surely someone could've made more use of rescue than her. You've no doubt that most of the crowd before you feels the exact same way, but still, you won't go back on your word.

     As Aradia helps her onto the Raptor, you get a good look at the seadweller. It's odd for one of them to be this far inland, but there's something else that's catching your attention. There's something strangely familiar about him, and you squint, wondering if it's just the lack of sleep you've been subjected to lately that's doing it. He looks back at you, and for a moment, looks like he might turn and bolt. That's when it hits you.

JOHN: wait! you're eridan ampora, aren't you?   
ERIDAN: wwho wwants to knoww   
ERIDAN: i mean   
ERIDAN: yeah thats right   
ERIDAN: you must recognise me from televvision or somethin    
JOHN: yup! i read a few interviews you gave, too   
ERIDAN: wwell great   
ERIDAN: alwways fantastic to meet a fan   
JOHN: listen.   
JOHN: this is your lucky day.

     You give him your place on the Raptor, and he looks at you like he wants to know what the frak's going on, but isn't about to turn down the offer. He's already hoisting himself on board by the time that Aradia turns to you to ask you what the hell you're doing, and honestly, you can't say why you've decided this is the right thing to do. You can't say why you think this man you've never met before is worth giving up your place back on Galactica for, but you know that there are dozens of fighter pilots up there. There isn't anyone with a think pan like his on your ship, and there may well not be in the rest of the universe.

     If the troll race is to survive, then it needs men like him to be at the forefront. You, you're just a pilot, and not a particularly amazing one. Oh, you're not terrible, but you're never going to stand out as one of the greats. You get your missions done, and you do them well, but there's no real style there to call your own. You clap a hand against Aradia's shoulder, and rest your forehead against hers, telling her that it's alright. They can get back to Galactica and send out a real rescue party. You're certain you can hold out a little longer down here.

     Aradia grits her teeth, closes her eyes, and tells you you better be sure about this. You promise her that you are, and it's the first time you've ever spoken a half-truth to her. Closing the door behind the makeshift crew, you step back, watching as your own Raptor begins to take off.

     One of the others left behind makes a mad, last minute dash at the vessel, and jumps right at it, clinging to the side. As if he won't fall to his death, as if he won't run out of oxygen, as if the atmosphere won't burn him up. Pulling your gun out again, you aim for his legs, knowing that it's for his own good.

     The ship disappears, and you holster your gun at your side. The others left behind look at you like you've gone completely insane, and you can hear your Commander's voice ringing in the back of your head, telling you just how shithive maggots you truly are.


End file.
